Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(61)

Finally.

For the first time in forever, I’m eager to go home.

Getting out my phone, I look up Peter’s new number—Peter Garin, it says in my Contacts—and text him that I’ll be ready to leave in about twenty minutes, in case he wants to meet me at the clinic. I don’t know how exactly he’d do that, since I’m the one with the car, but knowing Peter, he’ll manage.

Putting the phone away, I stick my head out of the exam room and tell Lydia I’m ready for the next patient.

I’m jotting down a few notes about the girl with chlamydia when the door opens and the last patient walks in.

I look up and freeze in shock.

I recognize this girl.

It’s Monica Jackson, the seventeen-year-old I helped after her stepfather raped her.

Her small round face is covered with purplish bruises, and one corner of her puffy lips is crusted with blood. “Hi, Dr. Cobakis,” she says tremulously, and before I can answer, she breaks down crying.

It takes me a solid fifteen minutes to calm her down and learn that the stepfather got out of jail last week. “He was supposed to be away for s-seven years,” she tells me, her voice shaking. “And we were doing so, so well. With the money you gave us, we got a new place, I graduated and have been working full-time, and Bobby—that’s my baby brother—he started school, a really good one, where they have computers and everything. And Mom…. she was doing better too, only drinking a little in the morning. I thought we finally had our shit together, and then he got out on a technicality and…”

She starts crying again, and I wait until she calms a little before asking carefully, “Did he do this to you? Did he hurt you?”

She nods, wiping the tears off her face with one small fist. “Mom went on a drinking binge as soon as she heard he’s out, and when I came home the day before yesterday, he was there, home with her, drinking together like old times. I got into an argument with him, told him to get out, and then he—” She breaks off, her shoulders beginning to shake again.

It takes all my training to maintain a physician’s required distance instead of hugging her. “Did you report this to the police?” I ask gently when she regains some composure, and she shakes her head, looking down at the floor.

“He said he’ll sue Mom for custody of Bobby if I say anything, and he’s got connections now. That’s how he got out early. Some drug-dealer friend of his pulled some strings.”

“Even if he does sue, that doesn’t mean he’ll win,” I say, but Monica adamantly shakes her head again.

“He might not win, but he’ll drag her through the mud,” she says, looking up to meet my gaze. “She’s got priors too, for public intoxication and prostitution, and Child Services is bound to get involved. I’m eighteen now, so I could also sue for custody, but my job pays minimum wage and there’s no guarantee I’d win. And if I don’t, Bobby will end up in a foster home.” A fierce protectiveness kindles in her brown eyes. “I can’t let that happen, Dr. Cobakis. I’ve been through that, and I can’t have that for my brother. He’s got special needs; he won’t survive the system. I can’t take that risk, believe me.”

My heart breaks for her all over again. I still feel she should go to the police, but I can see I won’t be able to convince her of that. And this time, I can’t cut her a check and make it go away.

Five thousand dollars won’t fix this, and I finally understand what it’s like to hate someone enough to wish him dead.

If a car hit her bastard of a stepfather tomorrow, I’d be the first to cheer.

Swallowing my anger, I reach deep to find the distance necessary to do my job. “Okay, Monica, I understand. Climb up on that table, please, and let’s make sure you’re not injured inside.”

She complies, wiping away the remnants of her tears, and I carefully examine her. Though the assault took place two days ago, there are still signs of vaginal bruising and tearing, so I collect a rape kit, just in case any DNA evidence remains and she later changes her mind about going to the police. I also give her emergency contraception and check for STDs after she admits that her assailant didn’t use a condom.

“Can you also please give me one of those copper things?” she asks when I’m done. “I don’t want to get pregnant for a long time.”

“Of course.”

She’s eighteen, so it’s easy. I schedule her for an IUD insertion next week, to give her time to heal.

“Do you have someplace to go? Other than your mom’s place?” I ask as she prepares to leave.

She better not be going home to her stepfather.

“I’m staying with a friend right now,” she says to my relief. “He’s got a couch I can crash on.”

“What about your brother?”

Her narrow shoulders tense. “There’s no room for Bobby at my friend’s place. I pick him up in the morning to take him to school, and then I bring him home.”

“To your mom who’s drunk? Is your stepfather there when you return with Bobby?”

She looks away. “I have to go, Dr. Cobakis. Thank you for everything.”

And before I can question her further, she hurries out of the room.





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